Hope it Gives You Hell
by Lil' Dinky
Summary: One-Shot drabble about looking good being the best revenge. Just for fun and because I had the song 'Hope it Gives You Hell' stuck in my head. Go Team Leah! T for language


**AN: **_Please forgive this silly one-shot drabble. It's just one of those 'write random things to try to get your creativity flowing' kinds of things. Yes, inspired by the song 'Hope it Gives You Hell'. In short, the moral of this little fic is: Looking good is the **best** kind of revenge. Go Leah! _

_Oh, yeah. Me no ownies.  
_

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**Hope it gives you hell**

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It was a Pack members only night, and Sam's small house was filled to overflowing with unruly Wolves- in human form, of course. No imprints, no outsiders. And no girls, not since Leah had disappeared without a trace over a year ago. Not that she really would've wanted to be there for this particular party, anyway.

This was the annual viewing of the Victoria Secret's Fashion show, and it was all the guys' guilty pleasure and highlight of the Pack get-togethers- imprinted or not.

Beer, insane quantities of food, and smokin' babes in skimpy lingerie. It was damn near perfect.

By the time the Show got underway, both Packs were somehow crammed eagerly into the TV room, minus Jake and Seth who were running late at the Cullens. The first models strutted down the runway, and the catcalls and jokes started flying. Ah, male bonding.

A loud, splintering crack, loud enough to distract them from the half-naked beauties on the screen, had everyone snapping their heads around to find out what the hell had just happened. Sam was the only one who didn't move, his eyes glued in horrified shock to the TV, blood and beer dripping out of his fist onto the shards that were once a bottle laying at his feet.

'What the fuck' expressions on every face, they simultaneously turned back to the TV and stared at the model sashaying down the runway in some seriously sex-kitten, black, barely-there bits of lace. Smooth brown skin, legs that went _all _the way up- except there was something way too familiar about that walk...

"Holy fuckin' shit!" Paul suddenly shouted, jumping up and spilling his beer all over a dumbfounded Quil.

"No way. No _fucking _way!" Embry stated flatly. "There is no way in hell that was her!"

But the cameras had already zoomed in on the next model- poor thing really couldn't hold a candle to the fuck-tastic hottie that had just walked off the screen- and the Pack merely stared at the show with gaping mouths. Nobody moved. They hardly even _breathed_.

But then there she was again, in red this time- fucking _red_- like sex walking. Tall, curvy, tan, sex in stiletto heels and a red teddy.

"Jesus H. Christ. It's like all my wet dreams come true," somebody muttered under their breath after she'd walked off the screen. Sam looked about ready to combust, but everyone's eyes were still glued to the set, and there was no possible way to tell who'd said it.

"Seth is going to flip a fuckin' nut," Jared stated solemnly. "He's going to fucking _lose _it."

"Who's gonna lose it?"

Everyone turned their heads again, this time to stare at Seth and Jacob squeezing through the doorway with cases of beer under both arms. The two of them stopped short and stared in confusion at the silent crowd around the TV.

"Okay... why do you all look like you're about to shit monkeys?" Jake finally asked. Now, the Pack's eyes shifted to Sam. A muscle twitched spasmodically in his jaw, and his clenched, bloody hand shook slightly.

"Turn this shit off," he bit out suddenly, turning and stalking out of the house with swift, angry steps.

"What the fuck was that about?" Jacob demanded, then yelped in pain when Seth abruptly dropped the beer he was holding onto his foot. "Ow, dammit! What the fu-"

He stopped in mid-rant when he got a look at Seth's face. The kid had gone completely white under his tanned skin, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Frowning, Jake turned to look at just what had freaked him out so badly.

"Fucking _hell."_

That was all that his brain could come up with at the moment. Seth was doing even worse.

"That wasn't... tell me that wasn't who I thought that was," he finally managed to get out after gasping like a fish for several minutes after she'd walked off the screen again. Nobody said a word.

"_Please_," he begged. "Somebody tell me that wasn't Leah."

Again, silence.

Then she sauntered back down the runway- red _again_, and damn did her ass look sexy in those lace boy shorts- and there was no denying that it was most definitely _her. _

Before anyone could stop him, Seth strode forward, hoisted the set up, carried it out the back door, and chucked it as hard as he could into Sam and Emily's yard.

"Told you he was going to lose it," Jared muttered as the sound of Seth smashing the TV into unrecognizable bits split the silence.

"Dammit," Quil complained. "Now we've gotta wait until the next catalog comes out."


End file.
